Tuesday, a man came for your things.
He had green eyes and an alcoholic's hands.
We traded wit and smoke and he left
Carrying your hair dryer and taste.
I wasn't one for sentimentals.
Throw the good with the bad in a brown sack
And leave them to cool in the snow.
The red rose you bought me blooms in the spring
And the yellow record player soothes me to sleep
When it's loud at night and my head
My head cracks.
And suddenly it's a riot of noises
Arguments
Of who we are and where we're from
And nothing works because we're too scared
Too young to compromise
You tell me I make you toothless.
I call you a blue moon.
She hangs in the sky every so often
And I wish there was a way to hold it in place.
Your tongue is heavy in his cheek.
My arms are bruised purple
From holding onto myself
So I don't dissolve.
So I go inside
And wrap thin fingers around a coffee pot
And dream of colors
That tell our stories in tandem
Instead of apart.
-
Author:
Simple Tendencies (
Offline) - Published: May 25th, 2025 22:18
- Category: Love
- Views: 8
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments2
Quite touching write of coping with the breakdown of a relationship, I think associating colours is a more pleasant way to remember how it was, nicely expressed and written
This is a raw presentation of a threadbare love that is torn but still holds on. Sad and dark it speaks of reality with little hope. Very nicely done it creates its own mood and a fave
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